


Unspool

by ZaliaChimera



Series: White Noise [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Protectiveness, Recovery, Training, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash has slept for twenty-three hours straight, twenty before that, unravelling silently in his own head. Maine won't let this go without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspool

"Whoa, what the hell is this?" Tucker says, staring.

Maine stands back, brushes off his hands, admires his work. They do not have access to FILSS here, or even a fraction of the resources that Project Freelancer had. What they do have is a lot of crates and bits of broken vehicle and an inexplicable amount of very advanced technology. 

Perhaps they do have a good fraction of the Project's resources after all.

Maine doesn't ask where it came from. Thinks he knows. Doesn't want to know _why_.

"It's a playground! I want to go on the swings!"

Maine grabs Caboose by the scruff of his armour before he can run headlong into the training minefield. It (probably) would not kill him. But Maine would have to reset the simulation before it has been properly used. He dislikes wasted work. Caboose dangles there, still trying to run. 

"Training." Maine says and watches Caboose swing a moment longer before putting him down.

"Aww man," Tucker says, staring with horror this time. "Well, have fun with that." He tries to sidle off. Maine isn't looking and he knows that.

"Stay," he says, and "test run."

He knows his helmet has caught the light just enough to glint when Tucker starts to back away more overtly, muttering about places to, people to bang. Maine smiles. The light flares on his visor as he takes a step forwards.

The swearing as the Blues run the assault course is satisfying. He times them. They collapse at his feet after, grimy with dust and the residue of explosives, panting for breath. Maine looks down at them. "Slow."

They whimper. Maine would laugh, but he has a reputation to maintain.

The explosions bring attention. Flash of red and orange in the corner of Maine's vision. About time. Minutes slower than they should be. Soldiers who take this long to check out the sound of explosions are dead soldiers. Maine has not worked out how they are still alive.

"Damn dirty blues. I see what you're doing there."

Maine has long since mastered the art of tuning out most conversation. Survival skill in Project Freelancer. York could talk for Earth, and Wash...

He does not think about that Washington. Stings.

He approaches the reds, too busy bickering to pay him much attention until he is next to them, and looks down at them. The fall silent. Except Sarge who has a gun pointed at him and is cursing him in a fluent string of expletives for sneaking up on them. Amusing. Never been accused of sneaking anywhere.

Yes. They will do.

He reaches down, grabs Sarge by the shoulders, and picks him up, ignoring the shotgun that bangs against his chestplate. Where he goes, the others follow. Main deposits Sarge just in front of the obstacle course. Watches expectantly. Nudges him forwards when he doesn't move.

They are much louder than Caboose and Tucker. Also faster. Maybe better. Maybe just more scared of him. Interesting.

Movement from the Blue base. Turns. Forgets the argument going on behind him. A figure in grey armour. Drawn by the excitement, the explosions, the arguments. Good.

The days on this planet run long. Twenty-eight hours to Earth's twenty-four. Washington has slept for twenty-three of the last twenty-eight. Twenty before that. Whole days lost to solid state shutdown. He sleeps like a corpse. Like a broken down, hollowed out piece of tech, empty armour. Maybe that's his intention. Shut down, unspool into himself until there is nothing left but a body.

No.

Another round. He joins them. Not a challenge for him. Shows them the ropes. How to jump to avoid the pit. Swerve 'round a grenade in front of you. They fuck up. They do it again. How he learnt.

Wash is waiting for them. Helmet on. Still. Silent.

Blues and Red behind Maine. Haven't seen him like this since the Meta. Thinks it's Wash. Isn't certain.

His approach is slow, measured. Maine wants to trust, still braces himself. He's stronger. Wash is faster and never thought of his life even before he became the Meta. Since then? Meta has never held back.

Wash stops, faces them. Visor obscuring his face. Can't tell who he is today. Killer, haunted, ghost.

There is a moment. A long moment. 

"My turn," Wash says. 

Maine cants his head. Go on. Relief. 

The assault course is a good addition. Changes it every couple of days. Won't let them get complacent. Builds it into a routine. The Blues complain. The Reds curse. 

Wash takes it mostly silently. Sleeps less. Eats. Stops unspooling.

Yes. This is good.


End file.
